


Oh Nicky

by Aelys_Althea



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nicky-centric, Pre-Canon, The Klose family are Too Good For This World, implied emotional abuse, meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: Nicky hit his wall. An insurmountable wall. Germany had been a chance taken without thought and he didn't have any real hopes of it fixing anything. How could he fix the unfixable?He'd never been more wrong in his life, and never happier for it.
Relationships: Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	Oh Nicky

A voice resounded on loudspeaker overhead. It seemed to echo throughout the cavernous building, rebounding off vinyl floors and white walls. Had Nicky been consciously aware of the words it uttered, he might have whimpered at how utterly different the foreign, accented words were from the stilted syllables of his classroom.

Nicky didn't think such a thing. He didn't think much of anything as he drew his gaze around the sea of people clamouring through arrivals. It was difficult to think when he felt so much.

Fear was prevailing. Fear that bordered on terror. Alone, practically helpless, and fearful. A little miserable and self-pitying too, for though the flight had stopped over in North Carolina, it was a full twelve hours and counting from Columbia to Munich and he hadn't slept a wink in that time.

Scared. Exhausted. Kicking himself, most definitely, because what in God's name was he doing? When his teacher had posed the suggestion to him, Nicky had been hesitant because there was no way. Not a chance in any lifetime would his parents allow him to travel abroad for exchange.

But they had. And he did. And now Nicky questioned just what the hell he was doing so far from his home city, from his friends, from people that spoke a language he could fluently understand and respond to in kind. Why had fleeing the country sounded like such a good idea in the first place?

 _Because it can't be worse than home_.

The thought filtered through the groggy mess in Nicky's head, the only thing tangible amidst the field of fear and misery. Grasping the strap of his rucksack with one hand, Nicky squeezed until the trembling all but vanished. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be so far away from everyone he knew, but he wanted to be home even less. Nicky just didn't want. Period. So what was he doing standing in arrivals at Munich airports?

The voice from the overhead loudspeaker echoed once more, and though Nicky didn't listen any more this time, it nudged him into awareness slightly less hazy than that which had frozen him in place. Blinking, shaking himself with what was more of a shiver than a confident shedding of his nervousness, he squeezed his luggage bag with his other hand and continued through the gate with stuttering steps.

There were people everywhere. So many people and all of them unfamiliar. Shoulders tucked to his ears in what had little to do with the pervasive autumnal chill, Nicky darting his gaze over heads and beanies, hats and coats with collars flipped up around bare chins. Wheelie bags squeaked on the floor, nearly drowned out by the click of heels and the slap of business shoes.

Nicky tucked his own luggage a little closer to himself, picking up his pace to skitter towards the side of the flowing tide of arrivals. _What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I…?_ The thought played on incessant repeat in his head, increasingly pitched and nearly hysterical. The panicked edge only spiked when, once more, the overhead voice relayed instructions in clipped words.

This time Nicky listened. Or he tried to. Gaze raised aimlessly in pointless search of the source of that voice, he strained his ears to make out the words where they were almost swallowed by the playback echo of the sound system. Flight number… what had it been? The speaker relayed it too quickly, words too skewed, for him to make out. Some flight, and going to – to Amsterdam, was it? He thought it was. He hoped it was. For some reason, that Nicky could make out the specifics of the words – "flight something to Amsterdam is delayed" – felt integrally important. Even more important in contrast to the words he couldn't understand at all.

"Fucking hell," Nicky croaked, his words low and quaking. "What am I even doing?"

He was good at German, wasn't he? Or at least his teacher said he was. Good enough that he could make his fumbling way through an airport to pickup, surely. Except that with each passing second, each step Nicky had taken from the tarmac, he'd become less confident in the skills his teacher so heartily believed he had.

What if he got lost? What if he never made it out of the airport? What if he couldn't find the family who was supposed to pick him up, never made contact, and had to somehow scramble his way back onto a plane and take the long haul back to Columbia? Back to his family and the drudgery of school. Back to what felt like literal hell and the daily exhausting grind of it, the pain of waking up every single day and feeling like shit, the fear that someone, anyone, would ask him about… would talk to him about…

Nicky knew his lip trembled, but he couldn't help it. He knew that his hold on his luggage and rucksack was too tight, that he might even develop lasting marks on his fingers with how tightly he was grasping the strap. He knew that he probably looked more than a little pathetic – a teenage boy, most likely distinctly American, standing like a lost puppy in the middle of the airport. And yet all Nicky could do was stare across the cavernous expanse of the yawning gate, the lights overhead becoming increasingly bright and painful as his eyes blurred, and struggle to breathe.

Just to breathe. Just to breathe. Just to… why bother? What was the point when he couldn't even -?

"Nicholas? Are you Nicholas Hemmick?"

The words struck Nicky like a much-appreciated slap in the face. It wasn't only because it was his name – his name? Someone that knew his name? – but because the words were in English. Accented and nearly as skewed as the overhead speakers, but definitely English.

Blinking rapidly in an unsuccessful attempt to clear his blurry gaze, Nicky spun towards the sound of the voice. It took him a moment to make out the trio of people wading through the crowd, barely a handful of steps away but previously unnoticed. It took another second for Nicky to recognise the faces of the man and woman leading the way; vaguely familiar faces only, but even vagueness was a welcomed lifeline in an instant of utter petrification.

Nicky had only seen the one picture of Mr. and Mrs. Klose, but he could recognise them. Thank God he could recognise them.

The blurriness wouldn't quite leave his eyes even as Nicky took a hesitant step towards the Kloses. He nodded rapidly, opened his mouth to answer their question, then resorted to more feeble nodding when words failed him.

Mrs. Klose offered him a smile as she drew before him. The slight lines on her face were more pronounced than they'd been in the picture, but it added to rather than detracted from the softness of her expression. "Welcome," she said, warmth thickening her words. "We weren't sure of the exact time your flight would be in."

"So we got here early," Mr. Klose added, drawing alongside her. "Probably a little too early."

"There is no such thing as being too early for a flight."

"If you are the one going onto the flight, yes. Picking up, though? Not quite so much."

"I would rather be early than late."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

Nicky glanced between them, switching back and forth as they spoke. The words weren't nearly as fragmented as he'd feared, as his teacher has warned him he might have to work his way through, and like their greeting, he grasped the comprehensiveness like a sacred gift.

"You're –" Nicky attempted, then paused as the word came out as little more than a strangled warble. Swallowing, cringing as the pair blinked at him expectantly and hoping to God his cheeks weren't as red as they felt, he cleared his throat. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Klose?"

"You seem so scared!" Mrs. Klose said, a smile tinged with sympathy rearranging her entire face. "There is no need to be, really."

"And you don't have to be so formal with us," Mr. Klose said. "Just Fred for me, and Leonie –"

"Yes, of course, you can call me Leonie." She smiled with that same sympathy radiating from her in waves. Nicky could feel it as though it physically struck him.

Suddenly it was too much to maintain his composure even. Or perhaps too much again, for Nicky wasn't sure if he'd been anything close to composed since he'd left the States. Not since he'd clambered out of his car at the airport and glanced over his shoulder at his parents. Not since he'd turned away from his mother as she gnawed her thumbnail, forehead crinkled into thick lines, or cringed at his father's parting words.

_"Take the time to get yourself together, son. Use this as a learning experience, the Lord lighting your way, and you will flourish."_

Too often of late his father's words lashed him like a whip with their unspoken undertones. Too often they echoed in Nicky's head on constant repeat, demanding and reprimanding even when the words themselves were anything but. How it could persist half a world away Nicky didn't know, but all of it, everything – the distance, the time, the exhaustion, and the flinch that afflicted him with every bad passing thought – became too much to handle.

Nicky's lip trembled and he couldn't make it stop. His eyes blurred once more and his throat clogged, a thickness in his chest tightening his lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe this time. Through the blurriness he could see Leonie's face flicker into confusion then concern, saw Fred reach a hand towards him but not to touch.

"I'm sorry," Nicky said, forcing the words out in German with a hint of solemn respect as he took a step backwards. He raised a hand to scrub at his eyes but it did little good in relieving him of his tears. "I'm really tired. S-sorry. This is all just a little…"

"Overwhelming?"

Through his fingers, Nicky turned towards the third member of his host family's party. He'd barely noticed the other man – the other boy, even, for he couldn't be much older than Nicky himself. Blinking rapidly, Nicky got an impression of tallness, of dark hair and a crooked smile, before the boy was at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It must be overwhelming," the boy said, his English just as accented as Leonie's and Fred's. "You're very brave to have come out here all by yourself, you know."

Nicky couldn't really see the other boy. He didn't know who he was, even if he could suspect, hadn't seen a picture of him and didn't even know his name. But at that moment, with the weight of a new country, a kindly family, and a gentle stranger heaped upon him, the few seams that still held him together dissolved.

How Nicky ended up sobbing helplessly in the boy's arms he didn't know. Why that boy didn't withdraw, didn't stiffen and flinch as Nicky dropped his forehead onto his shoulder, he didn't know either. The boy seemed instead inclined towards quite the opposite: a patting hand became a half embrace that all but held Nicky up as he sagged against him.

It was embarrassing. Terribly embarrassing, or it would have been if Nicky cared to acknowledge and feel the passing thought. It was also terribly wrong and would draw eyes and suspicion in the worst way possible. Another passing thought shivered to consider what his father would say, how his mother would shrivel at the sight, because God, if he was ever seen to do such a thing – but no. The larger part of Nicky could barely even consider his sinful actions as anything but the desperate clinging that they were.

"Hey, hey, you're alright, Nicholas," the boy said, rhythmically rubbing at his back with his gentle hands. "It's alright. You're alright."

Blubbering as he was, his eyes overflowing and chest hitching, it was all Nicky could do to utter a mumbled, "It's Nicky."

"Nicky," the boy echoed, and Nicky felt rather than saw him nod. "Okay. Hello, Nicky. My name is Erik. It's wonderful to meet you."

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face. He wasn't quite sure what was so wonderful about it all, but he supposed this boy – this Erik – might be right. If only for the moment, leaning against someone who seemed more than capable of holding him up for as long as he needed felt pretty damn good.

* * *

_"Calling all passengers to Flight 432 to Stockholm, that's all passengers on Flight 432 to Stockholm. Boarding will begin…"_

Nicky barely heard the overhead voice in its cool, clinical tone as it echoed overhead. He barely heard the hubbub of voices that surrounded him either – the bubbly chatter of a young family, the crisp words of a man on his phone, or the burst of laughter from a woman as she hastened through the arrivals gate with her arm raised in a wave.

Nicky didn't hear and barely saw any of it. Hands gripping the strap of his backpack and luggage handle respectively, he hastened with as much speed as he could from the gate of his incoming flight. There were people everywhere, ducking and weaving past and around him, and Nicky found himself dodging with every ounce of the skill he'd gained from years on an exy court.

When the foyer opened into the wide, cavernous room of pick-ups, he increased his speed further. The echoing voices changed in tone, rising into the air like hot steam to weave between the beams of sunlight raining through the windows lining the roof. That light scattered spotlights in golden yellow onto the heads below and cast beaming faces and excited greetings into stark relief.

Nicky didn't really see any of that either - or he did, but only in the one instance that it mattered. Only of the one face that mattered.

"Erik!"

Abandoning his luggage, backpack slipping from his shoulders, Nicky bolted through the last of the sea of people. He all but flew the final steps, sweeping around a woman as she crossed before him, and leaped at Erik with arms wide.

Erik caught him. In a grasp as strong and tight as Nicky's own, he caught and held him against himself in a fierce embrace. Nicky's Erik, his shining, vibrant boyfriend, the one person who could have stood out like a beacon in the tumultuous mix of people clogging the airport. Nicky would swear that, like a lodestone, he could have felt Erik wherever he was and become magnetised with fierce compulsion. It was impossible to resist.

Clinging to him, Nicky pressed his face briefly into Erik's shoulder, arms squeezing around his neck to hold him just a little closer. It had been months. _Months._ Why in God's name had he left it so long? How could anything – exy, his studies, even his family – be more important than this? In that moment, Nicky couldn't fathom it, and when he drew away from Erik slightly, just enough to catch his eye and the spread of his beautiful smile, every possible reason and excuse dissolved into pointlessness.

Nicky caught Erik's face in his hands and captured his lips in a kiss. One kiss, then another one, because one simply wasn't enough. Erik's arms tightened around him and held him close, so close it was almost hard to breathe, and Nicky didn't think he'd ever felt happier to give up his breath in his life.

"Welcome back," Erik managed in the split second that Nicky released his lips before stealing them again.

"Mm."

"I missed you," Erik murmured against his lips.

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed briefly. "Mm-hm. Me too." He punctuated it with another kiss.

"How was the flight?"

"Long."

"How's your cousins?"

"Crazy as ever."

"And how are you?"

Nicky opened his eyes. As close as he was he could make out the fragments of green in Erik's eyes, the hair-thin lines around them that stood as testament to his loveable smiles and incessant good humour. Nicky drew his thumbs across them briefly as he cradled Erik's face. When he smiled, Erik met his joy with his own smile just as wide, and those little lines crinkled into wonderful delight.

"Right now, I'm absolutely perfect," Nicky said, and released Erik's face only long enough to crush him in an embrace once more. Erik tightened his arms around him in return, all but lifting Nicky off his feet. Though for a moment Nicky really couldn't breathe, he didn't want to be let go for an instant. Not even a little.

He would have to get his luggage before it got lost somewhere, but that could wait. They would be visiting Leonie and Fred that day, but that was later and could wait too. Nicky would have to call home, call Aaron and send an acknowledging text that he was still alive to Andrew, but all of that, every one of his duties, could wait.

Later. Later and after… this. Cradled against Erik, exactly where he would always want to be, Nicky couldn't bring himself to care about anything else in the world.


End file.
